by Ron Tufo
“Sorry, man, but it is too cold to poop outside and your sister’s cooking finally caught up to me. Damn, Ron! What could she have done to those mashed potatoes? I mean, really. Butter, milk, potatoes and you’re done, right?”
“Squeak,” I answered, “it is a dark and magical power that she has over food. We don’t understand it either. But we do our level best to avoid anything resembling a previously edible foodstuff with which she has come into contact. Sorry that we all encouraged you to chow on her dinner. But it was you or us, man. Besides, now that you may indeed live through the experience, we can welcome you to the inner circle of Eating Habits of The Surviving Male Talbots, a very exclusive club indeed! Guideline #1, as it is self -explanatory, need not be repeated. Guideline #2 is just as simple: never, ever, forget Guideline #1.”
He looked at me hopelessly.
“Now go home and don’t bother me anymore tonight.”
The Waldo County Hospital Raid
In preparation for battle I have always found that plans are useless but planning is indispensable. - Dwight D. Eisenhower
Melissa was becoming more withdrawn from the family (and me in particular) every day that passed since the battle had ended. Even Iza with a short i could not break through her shield. One morning though, Iza did approach her with a question that stopped us all in our tracks.
“Melissa, Andrew died from the scratches by the zombie. Why didn’t I?”
Melissa’s eyes widened as she looked at Iza as if seeing her for the first time. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I remember that you noticed the scratches on my arm when we stopped to use the ladies room and get cleaned up a little when Andr…when we were driving up here. You washed my arm off because I had scratches on it. No one ever asked me how I got them and I never thought about it until now. I got them from Jim’s nephew, Coleman. Little Coleman was a zombie, wasn’t he? I know that now. Well, he scratched me and I didn’t turn into a zombie. Why not?”
Melissa didn’t answer her. The folks who observed this exchange could already tell what was going on in Melissa’s mind and what showed in her face and eyes: “Why didn’t you die Iza? Why didn’t you die and my Andrew did? Why?”
Iza was still waiting for Melissa to answer when Lyn pulled her away and into another room. She thought she might try and explain to the little girl why Melissa could not answer but realized no explanation was going to be helpful or understood.
If you happened to look up the word “compassionate” in the dictionary, there would be a very good chance Melissa’s picture would be next to it. Right now, however, she was anything but. Her Andrew was gone and this girl was still here. How was that fair? Deep, deep inside my youngest daughter’s emotional torture, I know there was a part that told her she was way off base. That part was going to need quite a bit of support if it was ever going to reach the surface again.
Softly, Meredith mentioned to everyone that today would be a good day to take the kids to Doc Jefferson’s for the playdate that had been promised them. Iza, had it seems, very good ears. She heard this and squealed with delight. Her attention immediately shifted from Melissa to this new development, a bit of a blessing for everyone present.
All the adults agreed that today was now officially playday for the kids. Mark, Jerome and Louis were also thrilled. They all wanted a turn at David’s still working video games, even if they were not web-enabled versions. Not that they’d been web-enabled before–something to think about next time we planned for an apocalypse.
I thought it would also be a great opportunity to pose some questions about Iza’s resistance to zombiehood and Melissa’s depression to Doc Jefferson. We could also see how he was doing against the current state of affairs and share some notes with him. Gary and Steve offered to make the trip and we decided to take two vehicles so it wouldn’t be a clown car of a ride.
Never one to pass up a chance to increase my mobile firepower, I had just finished mounting a Rat Patrol style 50 caliber machine gun on the back of a Russian made UAZ pickup truck. Why this truck was in the lot at our friendly neighborhood used car dealership, I will never know, and that’s not just a figure of speech.
I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure how they got one into this country, but I was over the moon to have one for my very own. This midsize pickup was surprisingly well built and proven both on and off the road. Yeah, I had tooled around the compound trails with it. It had plenty of the ground clearance. Not the most luxurious of vehicles, but enough features to keep me happy with heated seats and all kinds of cameras and parking sensors for those times when one needs to be in a crowded parking lot at one’s favorite restaurant with one’s favorite girl. Sometimes I would invite Nancy to come along too. (Ow! Why you punching me in the arm again, Nancy? I thought that was a funny line.)
Mounting the gun onto the truck was actually a defensively prompted idea. I didn’t want to give Gary any more motivation to ram another one of my metal babies into a pile of aggressive zombies. I figured if there was enough firepower on it he would just choose to shoot them instead. At least that was the theory. As usual, I stopped applying any logic the moment it got in the way of a cool idea. Hey, we all have our issues.
Besides I was hoping no one would latch on to the fact that someday I wanted to do a quiet little drive-by damage at Squeak’s girlfriend’s house for taking out the windshield on my Silverado.
Today, however, we would be on a two-fold pleasure trip. Like we figured, we would take two vehicles: one loaded with guns and the other loaded with children. First stop would be the Doc’s and then it was on to the hospital to enhance the medical supply aisle at Talmart. Personally, I was looking forward to a more potent painkiller than ibuprofen. My finger was still giving me fits. I also hoped Doc could point me toward some things that might help my daughter.
The kids were all waiting on the front porch with eager faces as we pulled the trucks around to the house. I felt happy for them that they at least could look forward to an enjoyable day of normalcy playing games with some new friends. Who am I kidding. I might get to fire my new mounted machine gun too! You can bet your ass that is why Gary and Steve volunteered to come along. They were not going to let me have it all to myself.
We saw a few less zombies than usual on the road to Doc Jefferson’s home. I wondered if that was a result of the carnage from a few days ago or if the local population was just winding down. I could hope that either or both reasons were true. Well, hope is a powerful motivator, and I surely needed some motivation lately to continue believing that we would survive and thrive once again.
No one wanted to do any killing this day. No one wanted to crack the shell of the pleasant mood that had provided our little gang with some weak but present smiles.
We pulled into Doc’s curving driveway with no mishaps. I stopped the truck before we could see the house and more importantly before any underage, quick-on-the-trigger-happy marksman could see us.
“David! David!! Don’t shoot anything. It’s us, the Talbots. ‘Member? We promised to bring the kids over to play someday soon?” I paused and waited for a response. I was not moving the truck one inch closer until I knew who was on watch. I didn’t trust Wild Bill Hickock not to fire off another truck-holing warning shot. Nope, I was staying right where I was until he acknowledged who we were.
Finally, “Hey, Mr. Talbot. Cool. Let me get my grandfather. Come on up the driveway and into the house like you did before.” Doc was over in his medical office lab and came walking out just as we pulled in. All smiles, he gave me a bear hug like a long-lost brother. I can only imagine how it must be for a single older man to manage a homestead with two kids in better times, let alone the ones were living in now. I returned the hug with vigor even if I didn’t have half the arm strength of this old coot. It was good to see him too. Felt very much like I had met a kindred spirit. He knew Gary and the kids; I introduced him to Steve. He gave my brother-in-law the once over and his doctoring mode bubbled up to
the top right away. “Steve, it is good to meet you but you look a little jaundiced, man. My cursory diagnosis is you are not getting enough vitamins in your diet. What do you eat?
Gary broke into chuckles before Steve could answer. Doc asked him what was so funny. Gary tried to answer with a straight face but he couldn’t. “Doc, if you had met Steve a month ago, you would have thought he looked more like a zombie than the zombies do.”
Steve didn’t miss a beat. “I eat my wife’s cooking when I have to. Other than that, it has been take-out food for years now. I have her convinced I am allergic to everything she tries to cook. Thank god for Ron’s wife Nancy. She does almost all of the cooking since we moved up with the family and I actually feel like a person again and not a McDonald’s dumpster.”
Doc looked to Gary and me who were conveniently looking at the pretty clouds in the sky.
“Is he telling the truth?” he pokes me.
“Oh yeah, he is. My sister’s ability to destroy nutriments is legendary. None of us willingly eats anything that has come in contact with her. Although, none of us broke a tooth on the toast she made the other day. Can we switch the subject? It cramps me up just talking about it.”
Doc was fairly non-plussed by this revelation but did manage to tell Steve he needed to increase his daily intake of vitamins and minerals. Steve smiled weakly and promised he would try.
We looked up and found that kids had already disappeared into the house. We told Doc how grateful we were that he would take the time and effort to give them all a day together. We began to download all of the goings on of the past few days. He was so sorry to hear about Andrew but not so much about Abner. He did warn us though, that Ida was the worst of the two. If she didn’t go down at the O.K. Corral, then you could bet your butt it wouldn’t be the last time we heard from her, zombified or not. He told us some nasty tidbits about how that woman held grudges. Even as a zombie leader, he felt she was capable of plotting revenge on our family. Marvelous. Wish we had paid more attention to finding her in the melee and sending her along with her husband.
We also found out from Doc that the same group of zombies had stopped at his place and milled around for hours before he and David were forced to shoot the ones who kept banging themselves on the back door in an attempt to get inside. They had shot so many, they piled them up above head height and the other zombies were then pushing against the pile, still trying to get in. Then just as suddenly as they had shown up, they left and continued up the road. He thought maybe even zombies need to eat to stay un-alive and some timer went off telling them to move on to better hunting grounds. Seems maybe they were told there would be easier food somewhere else? Who knows?
We related the news about Iza to him. How she had been scratched but not turned. He was astonished. “Don’t you realize” he said, “that for every virus, ever pathogen that ever existed there’s some folks whose inner workings are designed, by either luck or natural intervention, who will resist it or even destroy it. I have no idea if that is true with your Iza, but could you imagine if it is! Iza could be an extremely important young lady to the whole human race. I will need to draw some blood, perform an entire series of tests and verification re-tests to determine how she overcame the infection, or if she just got ridiculously lucky.” His eyes were glazing over as he dove into his imaginary medical cookbook To Serve Man.
“Whoa, Doc. Slow down. This is an amazing piece of news but we are talking about an eight year old girl here. Let’s make sure she knows what she means to us as a little girl before we put her up on a pedestal as the savior of the race. You can get all your tests and equipment set up, but don’t you dare do a damn thing until we all know and agree to what should be done.”
“Of course, of course, Ron. But holy cow! This could mean everything if it works out the way I hope. It could mean a vaccination against zombieism for all of us.” In the meantime, I will be sure to guard her and the boys with my life. We really are able to hold our own here, as we have just recently shown.
We told him our next stop was the Waldo County Hospital.
He took a gander at my finger and just whistled. Oh just fucken’ great. Just what I needed, a doctor who does sounds effects. “Well, at least you had someone do field work on you who had some idea how to set small bones. It is never going to be the same as it was before, but it will be functional. I could break the bones again before they heal up too much and reset them all properly–but I warn you it is not an enjoyable way to spend the day and no amount of pain medication other than complete anesthesia will help much.” I think I was blue-white at this point; he went on like he hadn’t noticed. “Without a certified anesthesiologist to run his end of the surgery I wouldn’t dream of doing it by myself.” I thanked him and was happy not to have anybody messing with my hand anymore; I’d just stay gimpy.
We asked if he needed or wanted anything from the hospital, assuming we found the place in the condition we expected, which would be no longer functioning. He laughed. When we pressed for an answer to his giggles he was very forthcoming with the reason.
“Ron. You guys know I am right in your league as far as being a paranoid survivalist, right? Well, the other doctors who had privileges at the hospital used to stop here first sometimes to get what they would need. So, no, there is nothing there you can bring me that I don’t already have plenty of. Thanks for the thought, though. Much appreciated.” His smile said it all. So did our expressions of awe!
He gave us some tips on what kind of light depression medications we might look for to help Melissa regain balance of her emotions and told us, too, that just getting her to talk about it would do everyone a world of good. He was glad to hear Andrew’s grave site was not in the line of sight of the house but still very much in a place of solitude and honor on the property. That bit of loving symbolism would go a long way toward her recovery. He also told us whatever we didn’t find at the hospital, he would give us from his inventory.
We had a cup of coffee together and talked about times pre-zombie. Shared some stories and laughs and promises to spend some more time together. We made a friend that day and we were all happy about it. We yelled up the stairs to the kids’ rooms and told them we would be back later in the day to pick them up. Doc jumped in with the fact that they could stay for a couple of days. There was plenty of food and changes of clothes for all. The kids needed no encouragement whatsoever to jump on that offer. We thanked him and promised to be back in a couple of days.
We pulled out of Doc’s and in a few turns we were back on the main drag to the hospital. I was driving one truck and Steve and Gary were following in the other. I knew it was futile, but I was futzing (yes, that is a Fudge Ripple Ice Cream alternative. Doesn’t work either) with the radio to see if I could get anything besides static. Should have remembered to bring a couple of CDs. At least then I could sing along to some old Beatles’ tunes. There was nothing on the road per usual except for the wrecks and abandons. Sometimes they made it difficult to maneuver, but it was usually less trouble than you would think. Maybe the next truck I managed to liberate would have an old-fashioned cow catcher on it. It would make things easier still and more fun. I gave up on the radio, not even some old pre-recorded loop still on the airwaves, and focused only on the road. I was going kinda slow, but not slow enough it seems, considering it had gotten foggy–as winter days do sometimes along the coast in Maine when the cold ocean air clashes with the warmer air from inland. You really can’t see a damn thing until it comes out of the fog only feet away from you.
On cue like a 1950s horror movie poster, an old man in some raggedy-ass clothes emerged from the murk and walked right in front of my truck. I yanked the wheel to the right, just avoiding him. Steve was not so lucky. He tried his best not to hit the fossil or the ass end of my truck as it fishtailed on the road. He went left and ran smack into the back of a badly parked school bus. So much for my showroom-new leather-seated, moon-roofed, royal blue Dodge Ram. The front end crumpled like a
hot dog wrapper without the hot dog. I just sat there not believing another truck had been violently taken out of commission. Steve was already trying to hide under the steering wheel. Gary was laughing like a crazed hyena, mostly because he wasn’t the one driving.
The truck was a total loss. The school bus didn’t even look like it had been hit. I was too pissed to even ask Steve, who is a really good guy and felt horrible, if he was okay. I had never even got to drive the damn thing. It was the third truck I had lost in just about a week. At this rate I would never be able to liberate enough of them to last me until summer. There had to be a better way.
I’m sadistically thinking I could take them both out now and claim they drove off the bridge in the fog. Gary, who knows how my vengeful limbic brain works, had already raised and aimed his rifle and spoke in a low, denouncing voice, “Don’t even think about it, bro. You know I’m a better shot than you. You would never get both of us before I got you.” Fuck, I really hate it when he is right. Steve was making ungghh sounds. I think he understood how precarious his situation was for a moment. He may be my sister’s husband and hell, I even like him more than I like my sister, but this truck destruction business had to be stopped. It was beginning to wear on me.
Where had the old man come from? Where had he gone? I know saw him, and as dense as the fog was, no one should completely disappear that quickly. I yelled; no answer. Sounds do not travel well in dense fog any better than sight does, but again, he couldn’t have been but a few feet away. Well, neither of us hit the damn fool, so if he wanted to keep walking away, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
When I finished stomping around and calling for the crusty looking old dude, I noticed Gary looking at me kind of funny. “Brother, I know you are pissed, but what the fuck are you doing?”
